


Wet Start

by CatWinchester, evieplease



Series: Wet Start One shots [1]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, NSFW, actor!tom, plumber, plumbing catastrophe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-05 13:30:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11014428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatWinchester/pseuds/CatWinchester, https://archiveofourown.org/users/evieplease/pseuds/evieplease
Summary: Tom needs a plumber. He gets one.





	1. Chapter 1

“Rocky, I need you to get your arse over to Chalk Farm. It’s a posh neighborhood, so for Christ’s sake, try to look professional!”

“Dad, I’m a damn plumber, not a bloody socialite! I dress like a damn plumber!”

“Well, dress like a nice plumber! And mind your bloody language!”

“Do you seriously think I’m going to run home and change into a skirt and tights to fix a bloody leaking faucet in some posh kitchen? Don’t be daft, Dad!” My dad, ladies and gents, always trying to turn me into a proper lady, even though he’s the one who put a plumber’s wrench in my hand as soon as I was big enough to lift it…

I jogged out to my van, hoisted myself up into the driver’s seat and started it up, not worried about my old grey cargo pants, (lots of pockets!) my red jumper and old anorak. I wound a scarf around my neck and pulled on some gloves. London is freaking cold this winter! If Mrs. Toffee-Nose The Third, doesn’t care for my ‘attire’, she could just fix her own bleeding faucet!

“Look Dad, just text me the address and I’ll get the job done, right? Talk to you later!” I hit the disconnect and tossed my mobile onto the seat next to me to concentrate on the lovely London traffic as I headed northwest.

After a slightly harrowing trip through central London, I double checked the house number on the address that Dad sent. I heaved my tool bag over my shoulder, and slammed the truck door shut. Damn, this thing never gets any lighter.  
I shivered a little in the winter temperatures but I knew that as soon as I got inside I’d likely be sweltering, people keep their homes so warm. Wish I’d worn a tee shirt under my jumper…  
I reached the lovely blue painted door in the nice red brick detached, admiring the large, tasteful Christmas Wreath on the door and had lifted my hand to knock when the door was wrenched open by a tall, skinny man clutching his severely rumpled hair and already talking.

“Thank God, you’re here!”

I heard the sound of water running uncontrolled away behind the man and skirted around the idiot at a run.

“For Christ’s sake, didn’t you turn the water mains off?!” I followed the sound of the splashing water- make that fountain of water!- shooting up from the thoroughly broken tap on the kitchen sink. The faucet handle was gone! I dropped to my knees and swept the contents of the cupboard under the sink out with my arm, desperately trying to locate the stopcock and stop the water, which was now making a lovely arc and landing directly on my bum. Fuck that’s cold! And that was on top of the two inches of water I was already kneeling in. My job is so glamorous. At least it’s clean kitchen water, not the loo fountaining…

The stopcock, which would turn off the water to the entire house, was fixed tight, just my luck, and if the pipes were anything to go by, it was probably from the victorian age, therefore gentle treatment was necessary.

I ducked out from under the sink and grabbed an old towel from my bag. Stepping up to the sink my remaining dry spots, namely my chest, hair and face, got thoroughly soaked as I laid the towel over the missing handle and put the end in the sink, so the majority of the water would go into the sink and stop running into my knickers as I worked. I weighted the towel down with some mugs and cutlery to be sure the water pressure didn’t push it off and now that the panic was over, I took a deep breath.  
I grabbed my WD40 lubricant and ducked below the sink once more, applying it to the fitting then gently working the handle back and forth, spraying a little more each time it turned slightly. Ten minutes of careful treatment and the stopcock was in the off position and the only sound in the room was the drip, drip, drops of water falling from the marble countertop and hitting the puddle under my arse.

I looked down at the pool of water I was sitting in. The kitchen was tiled but this much water could still wreak havoc, especially if it had reached other rooms.

I turned as I went to stand up, so I could speak to the homeowner and decide how to proceed, except as I rose my nose connected with a hard chest. Which, under other circumstances would have been a fine and lovely thing, but in the current circs was Not A Good Thing. Not At All.

My Doc Martins have a great grip usually but on shiny floor tiles and lubricated with so much water, I didn’t stand a chance and as I bounced off the idiot, I lost my footing, which had been precarious to begin with, and went flying, landing with an undignified yelp and a distinct cold splash on my backside.

I looked up, and up, and for fuck’s sake, UP! at the horrified face looming over me, truly seeing the man for the first time. My stunned gaze traveled over miles long black jeans-clad legs, muscular thighs, a tight blue-grey Henley clinging to that unforgiving chest, and up to the distressed face, a babble of ‘Oh my God are you alright?’ ‘I’m so sorry!’ ‘Thank you!’ ‘Sorry!’ ‘Alright?’ raining down on me.

I sat in the wet, cold soaking into my backside and mouth hanging open in astonishment at the idiot’s sheer beauty, too stunned to react coherently, or even comprehend what he was saying for a bare moment. I wish I could say I’d hit my head…

So that happened.

He abruptly stooped and grasped my upper arms, hauling me up to my feet, just as I realized that along with his apologetic babble he had been holding his hand out, waiting for me to take it so he could help me up. I blinked and shook my head somewhat experimentally, hoping sense would magically fall into it.

I swayed unsteadily as he started to let go. Ow. His hands tightened on my arms as if worried I’d fall again. Ow. I wanted to rub at the ache in my coccyx, but I retained enough sense not to be rubbing my arse in front of this very fine… client! He’s a fekking client, ya silly cow! I dragged a breath in and put my hands up, stepping back carefully and pushing my sodden dark hair off my face.

“Um, I’m good. It’s fine. Let’s take a look at the damage…” thinking of the wet mess in his kitchen, and going hot red as I realized that where his eyes went and his concerned face meant he thought I was talking about the damage to my arse..

“I’m sorry Mr. …?”

“Hiddleston. Please, call me Tom!”

“So, um, Tom…?” I pushed against his immovable chest and he turned pink, stepping back to let me by at last.

Clutching my bag of tools, I stepped carefully around him and surveyed the lake on the kitchen floor. The whole floor was covered but there was a small two inch step up into the hallway, so hopefully the damage would be contained.

“Well. This is very thoroughly…um.” I glanced up at the man who stood beside me, remembering just in time to mind my language.

“…very thoroughly fucked, yes.” He winced, nodding.

He stood next to me, one hand stuffed into his trouser pocket and the other rubbing the back of his neck, a slash of pink on his cheeks and ears glowing red. He looked bewildered, completely out of his depth. I sighed. I’m a plumber dammit, not a cleaner…

“Have you got a mop?”

“Oh! Yes, right!” He leapt toward the utility room, happy to have direction.

Glancing down at my boots, I sighed. My favorite boots. But they’re good sturdy boots, almost as good as wellies, except that the water had run down my body, and although it wasn’t audible, I could feel my socks squelch with each step.

I wasn’t sure if it was because I was soaking wet, or because I’d managed to find the only house in London that wasn’t set to “tropical heat” at this time of year, but I was starting to feel pretty cold now the panic was over. I should get on with the job, so I could get home and dry soon. I shivered.

I waded through a couple of inches of water to the sink and set my tool bag on the countertop, looking over the source of the problem. Removing my towel I saw that the faucet handle itself had blown right off and lay in the bottom of the sink, along with a broken plate and a coffee cup.

Well, that explains the fountain shooting skywards! I glanced up, relieved to see no water dripping from the ceiling. I picked up the handle assembly and poked around in it, finding the problem immediately. Some bright boy had used cheap plastic parts in a repair, rather than the better quality metal parts designed to withstand years of water pressure. The good news was that this would be an easy fix. And I even had the appropriate parts in my truck.

I wrung my towel out as best I could and used it to wipe the worst of the water from my face and hair, but really, there was no drying off now.

Mr. Hiddleston returned, clattering a mop and a bucket onto the floor, standing there to survey his little lake gloomily. I hated to add to his gloom, but I’d just noticed another door.

“Um, have you checked your cellar yet?”

“Shit!” He dropped the mop and bolted for the cellar door, which I could see was at the far edge of the lake. I followed him curiously and saw wooden steps leading down into pitch darkness.

“WAIT!” I yelled as he reached for the light switch.

He turned to me, confused.

“You’re standing in two inches of water and if the pipes in this place are anything to judge by, I wouldn’t be turning any light switches on until this place is dry!”

“Ah,” he said in agreement, yanking his hand away from the switch, looking down into the cavernous darkness with a rather spooked expression.

“Hang on a sec,” I said, rummaging through my bag for a torch. You’d be amazed how many idiots install boilers in dark cupboards with no light source (the answer is, almost all of them).

“Here.” I said as I handed him the maglight. “That’s one electrifying experience you don’t want.”

He found a weak smile for my bad joke, although I think he was only being polite, then he focused the torch beam into the cellar, venturing down a few steps as he shon it over the edge of the steps onto the floor.

“Looks okay,” he said, “Just a puddle, but that won’t take long to clear up.”

“Well I have to pop out to the van for some parts, but I should have you fixed up in a jiffy.”

He made some sort of affirmative sound and I left him to it. Since I was so wet I went out of the kitchen door to spare his carpets, and around the side of the house to my van, where I collected the parts I needed. I shivered harder, my teeth chattering. I was soaked through, my drenched anorak doing me no good at all.

When I came back he was surveying the kitchen, worrying his lip.

“Have you called your insurance company yet?” I asked.

“Um, no, I haven’t actually. That’s probably a good idea. Thanks.” He disappeared somewhere and I got on with the job at hand.

“You’ll want photos for the insurance!” I shouted after him. He didn’t immediately return so I got on with what I was being paid for.

I replaced the regulator assembly and put the thing back together, before turning the water mains back on to test it. I needed to have a look at the plumbing under the sink and I sighed, looking at the water under my feet. I was already soaking wet so what did a little more matter? I knelt down to inspect the plumbing and the stopcoock, just to make sure more problems wouldn’t develop once I left.

I’d recommend replacing the stopcock but although the plumbing was old, it still looked pretty sound, it was just those dodgy repairs to the tap and a stopcock that hadn’t been moved in decades at fault. Though it wouldn’t hurt to check the other plumbing in the house for soundness.

I stood up and turned to see Tom standing in the doorway. He looked so lost that I picked up the mop to begin sopping up all the water, but he firmly took it away from me.

“No, that’s my job! You’re a qualified plumber, not a cleaner!”

I think I might have fallen a little bit in love with him at that moment.


	2. Chapter 2

I shivered and for the first time, I think he registered that I was soaked through.

“My god, you must be freezing! You- I- Um-”

His gaze was focused on my chest and as I looked down I could see why. Through my jumper and bra my nipples were poking out like pencil erasers.

I crossed my arms over my chest and willed my flaming cheeks to calm down.

“You, you need to warm up, get out of those wet clothes for one, um-”

“It’s fine, I’ll change when get home.”

“Where do you live?”

“Um, Thamesmead.”

He looked at the wall clock. “It’s gone 5, it’ll take you well over an hour to get home in rush hour traffic, probably closer to two! Stay here, take a nice hot bath and get warm, I’ll find you some dry clothes. Then I won’t have to worry about you dying of hypothermia on the journey and being sued for everything I own by your folks and anyone else you crash into.” He waved his arms about vigorously.

I was grinning by the end of his speech. “That’s very dramatic, mate.”

He leaned in close. “Is that a nice way of calling me a drama queen?”

I burst out laughing and he joined in. Okay, he might be a posh idiot but clearly he wasn’t up his own arse, which I liked.

“Look, there’s a lock on the bathroom door, I’ll leave some dry clothes just outside the door. I’ll pop yours in the dryer and we’ll see how much water we can get out of them.”  
I was freezing, and the idea of a bath was so very tempting, and he was right about rush hour traffic, I tried to time my jobs to finish by 4pm, or work through to 6pm so I missed the worst of it, but today was not working for me. I sneezed. Damn.

“But I’ll drip water on your carpets.”

“Clean tap water, and no more than I’ve already carted through, I’m sure.

“Okay, if you’re sure it’s no trouble…”

“None at all, love.” He showed me to the upper floor and found a bag for me to put my wet clothes in with instructions to leave them outside the door once I’d changed. He also gave me his dressing gown while he tried to hunt out something more appropriate, which he’d leave outside, he told me.

“Take as long as you want,” he assured me. “I’m going to have my hands busy for the next hour with clearing that lot up.”

“Won’t the insurance company send someone?” I assumed someone as posh as him would have a policy where they sent a cleaning crew out or something. I hadn’t pictured him mopping up his own messes.

“No, they’ll send out a loss adjuster and if the water was deep, they’d send someone to pump it out, but there’s not much they can do about an inch or two.”

I felt kind of bad for him, wondering if he’d ever even operated a mop, but I was also soaking wet and shaking with it, so I ducked into the bathroom and turned the taps on, making the water almost scalding hot and leaving it to run while I undressed and put the bag of clothes outside. His bathroom was large but not luxurious or opulent as I might have imagined. No gold taps. I might have been a bit disappointed. I smirked at my thought, but I was really just relieved.

The bath tub was larger than usual though and I sank into the hot water with much hissing, oohing and aahing but once I’d adjusted, it was bliss!

It had been a long day, I’d started at 7am this morning since I was supposed to knock off at 3.30, and I guess shivering had taken it out of me because I almost fell asleep in the warm water.

When a bang from downstairs roused me, I decided I’d better get out and dressed before I really dozed off. I was lovely and warm now. And a little dazed and sleepy with the heat.

I dried off and pulled the robe on to peek outside where a pile of clothes waited for me. I brought them into the large bathroom and found he’d left sweatpants, men’s but they did have a drawstring waist, a t-shirt and a cardigan, both also men’s. And bless him, some lovely wooly socks!

The thought that he didn’t have any women’s clothes in the house pleased me, for reasons I wasn’t inclined to look at too closely.

I had to roll the sweatpants and cardigan sleeves up quite a lot, but it actually felt nice to be drowned in clothes. I’m not one for tight fitting clothing at the best of times but when I’m tired, I do like things I can literally wrap myself up in.

I ventured downstairs to see that Tom was nearly finished and when I looked outside I could see why; other than the towels I’d dried off with, he seemed to have employed every other towel in a five mile radius to soak up the water, and they were now hanging from a clothes line and off every piece of garden furniture that he owned, dripping on his patio. If he wasn’t careful in this weather, they’d freeze solid before they dried. The drips would also freeze and turn his patio into a bit of an ice rink. Since he seemed a little ditzy, I made a mental note to remind him to be careful…. Although it might be fun to watch ‘Toffs on Ice’!

He’d stripped down to a pale blue t-shirt and I could see his biceps bulge as he wrung the string mop into the bucket. He hadn’t looked muscular at first glance, but now I could see that his looks were deceptive and he was built like a runner, lithe but strong.

“You’ve done well,” I praised, looking around the room.

“Thank you.” He smiled as he looked up. “And you look better, you’ve got some colour back in your cheeks.” I thought that had more to do with my blushing than the bath. But we’ll go with that.

“I checked on your clothes a few minutes ago, they’re still sopping, really. You’re welcome to wait for them or you can feel free to wear those home,” he gestured to what I was wearing.

Hmm, wait with the handsome and charming man, or steal his clothes and wear them home? Have I fallen into heaven or hell? I glanced back out the window and my breath stopped.

Snow?? Fucking actual snow! Enormous, fluffy, flakes flying madly out of the ominous sky. Dear God, what deity have I offended and whose dick do I have to suck to be done with this day?! No, seriously. I rubbed my face vigorously. The snow was accumulating already, and my old van needed new tyres…

I lost my mind, that’s the only way to explain it. Yeah, I’m going with that.

I threw my hands up, turned away from the window, stomped furiously across the floor to fling myself into the nearest kitchen chair, and laid my face down on the table top, stretching my arms out in supplication. I lifted my head briefly to speak.

“Ya know what, Mr. Hiddleston? I’m so done!” I set my forehead back down, breathing deeply into that Zen thing that I’d heard about. I don’t know that it did any good, but eventually I was able to look up.

He stood there, leaning against the countertop, a tea towel over his shoulder, elbows cocked and hands at the edge of the counter, and long, long legs crossed at the ankle.  
He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes and raising an eyebrow.

“Tom. Call me Tom.”

I stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, then I simply lost it. I snorted a laugh and then couldn’t stop, lying back and laughing until I was limp. At some point the idiot, I mean ‘Tom’, got caught in my laughter, and in the end he was facedown in the crook of his arm at the table, the other arm flung out over the surface, giggling just as hard as I was.

As I was currently discovering, the man had an uncanny knack for making everything better. Or worse, depending on your point of view. He certainly prolonged my giggle fit, snickering just as I’d begun to get control and setting me off again. And again.

“Please…” I moaned, clutching my very sore belly muscles. “Stop! I can’t-!”

He did stop, sobering instantly, blinking owlishly at me. That was almost worse, but I was too wrung out and limp to continue.

Tom stood abruptly and filled the kettle, pulling tea things out of the cupboard and making a pot. I watched his lanky body move around his kitchen in bemusement. He does know how to do a brew, at least.

He set down a couple of heavy tea mugs on the table, and the steeping teapot, looked it all over, turned around and grabbed a packet of hob knobs from the top of the fridge.  
Standing indecisively for a second looking at the packet, he glanced at me and then grimaced, reaching a long arm up and fetching a plate down for the biscuits.  
I snickered. I didn’t even have the energy to take the piss.

He did all this quietly, not chattering at me or asking me a million questions. It was strangely companionable as he poured the tea out and we sat drinking it at the table, scoffing biscuits and watching the snow fall through the light in the back garden.

He eventually stirred the peaceful silence, his hand falling warmly over mine.

“Stay.“ he said quietly.

I looked at his warm hand on mine for a long moment, and then up to his face, searching his eyes.  
Mr. Hiddleston -Tom- stared back at me patiently, a smile lurking at the corner of his mouth and a small shrug of his shoulders as if to say ‘it’s up to you’.

And because it was up to me, and entirely my own decision, I decided to stay. What the hell, why not? He seems like an ok bloke. He doesn’t put on airs and graces, despite the posh address. And he seems unlikely to murder me as I sleep… and staying is definitely a better idea than getting out on snowy roads with, I shuddered to contemplate, bloody London drivers. I nodded.

“Alright.”


	3. Chapter 3

A look of quite smug satisfaction came over his handsome face. I’ve just learned one important thing about Mr. Tom Hiddleston. He likes getting his way. I grinned.

“Would you like to know my name first?”

He blinked at me several times, his mouth open in a small ‘o’ and then snapped shut with a rueful grin, recovering his aplomb.

“Why yes, I would.  I don’t suppose it would be terribly practical to carry on thinking of you as ‘that incredibly sexy plumber’!”   His eyes fucking twinkled at me!

It was my turn for open-mouthed surprise.  I sat gaping at him, in part because of the ‘incredibly sexy’ bit, in part because he hadn’t qualified ‘plumber’ with ‘lady’ or ‘woman’, and in part because he fucking twinkled at me!  His grin spread wider.

“Well?  Are you going to tell me your name, Ms. Incredibly Sexy Plumber?  Or am I going to have to torture it out of you?”  he added with a playful waggle of his eyebrows.

I startled back into reality and went beet red at the arrow that zinged through me at his words, glancing away from his amused face.  I think he got that…

“Oh um, it’s Rocky.”

Another long pause as he processed that. His eyebrows met in the middle.

“Now, who would name a beautiful baby girl ‘Rocky’?”  He seemed genuinely puzzled and a little taken aback.  I burst out laughing.

“Well, that’s not the name on my birth certificate!  But I tend to think of it more as a warning!”  I grinned.  “So consider yourself warned!”

“Alright, so I will! But really, now you’ve got me curious.  What is the name on your birth certificate?” he prodded with a lifted eyebrow.  Very expressive, those eyebrows.

“Nope!  I’m not telling!  It’s a horrible name, and if Mum hadn’t already done a bunk, I’d shoot her for it meself!”

Whoops.  Bloody hell, that was more info than I’d meant to hand out for free.  There was a stunned pause, Tom’s face creased in… that better not be pity. I narrowed my eyes.

A posh upbringing must be good for something because, aside from the look of surprised concern, he had better manners than to press me further.

He stood abruptly and clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly, changing the subject.

“Right.  Supper.  I was meant to go to the shops today,” he made an annoyed face, looking around the kitchen with his lips pursed and twisted to the side, “but events overtook me.  I’m not too sure what I have on hand to make a meal for two, but I don’t really want to call some poor takeaway delivery person out in this weather…”  He ran a hand through his disarranged curls, obviously thinking out loud.

“Help me figure it out?” He gestured vaguely towards the refrigerator and pantry. Cobble together a meal from odd bits and pieces?  That I can do.

He opened his refrigerator and I stood by his side, surveying the contents.  I side-eyed him.  Boy, he wasn’t kidding about needing to go to the shops! There was fuck-all in there, one egg, a small block of cheese, a few slightly wrinkled potatoes- oh, we can do something with the potatoes- butter, a mostly full carton of long life milk, condiments.  I started to reach for a takeaway box before I asked.

“How old is this?”  Tom coloured and cleared his throat.

“I’m not actually quite sure…”

I pulled my hand back.  I don’t want to know.  I opened the freezer compartment.  Oh, here we go.  A pint of chocolate cappuccino ice cream, a pound of lamb mince, some frozen mixed veg,  a bag of chopped onions, celery, and carrots, or 'mirepoix' according to the packet…

I picked up the ice cream and pried the lid off.  Hallelujah! Untouched!  I replaced it and scooped out the lamb and mirepoix, setting them on the countertop.

“We can do something with those.  How do you fancy a shepherd’s pie?”

“Brilliant!”

“Right, get the potatoes, you can peel them.  You DO know how to peel potatoes, don’t you?”

Tom snorted sarcastically.

“Yes, and I know how to whistle, too!”

I blinked at him. Whatever does peeling potatoes have to do with whistling?  And then the penny dropped.  Damn, he’s quoting Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart at me!  I rolled my eyes.

However, he pawed through a drawer, looking out his potato peeler and got started as I set a pot of water to boil for the potatoes, and popped the mince into the microwave to defrost. 

“Do you cook? I’d have thought that you’d have a personal chef to fatten you up.  And a personal trainer to work it off for you…”

“I picked up a few skills when I was filming the cooking scene in the Night Manager.” he shrugged. “It’s amazing the things one learns on a film set.”

“THAT’S where I know you from!” I shrieked my surprise.  “You’re Jonathan Freaking Pine!”  

“Only during work hours, love.  You can call me Tom…” he smirked, cutting up the peeled potatoes and carefully dropping them in the pot of water.

“Oh, thanks very much!” I made a face at him as I started a pan heating some olive oil and put the mirepoix in to sauté. 

“So, when is the next series of the Night Manager?” I asked curiously.  I’d really loved that show!

“Uh, I don’t know actually.  That’s not my department at all.”

“Well, you can’t just leave it there!  I need to know that Jonathan and Jed get a happy ending! Did Roper die or will he come back?”

“I believe they’re still working on a script…”

“Well tell ‘em to work faster!  We’ve already got ‘Sherlock’ to frustrate us with three episodes every 5 years, and you’re not getting any younger, you know!”

“You’re as young as you feel. Or as young as the woman you feel.” he waggled eyebrows suggestively, with a smirk.

“Oh, so that's why all those old codgers go with young birds,” I shot back. He rolled his eyes.

I added the lamb mince to the mirepoix in the pan to brown, breaking it up and stirring, thinking about a new episode.

“So, how about this time Jed and Pine work together? They go undercover in a human trafficking fishing ring and try to break it up…”

“A...fishing ring?” he looked confused.  It was kind of adorable, with his brows drawn down and the little crease between them.

“Yes, what’s wrong with that?”  Wait for it…

“I’m not sure that’s a real thing…” he said doubtfully, biting his lip.

“Oh my Cod, I can’t believe you’re questioning me about this!” He paused and blinked at me.

“You made all that up just to make that pun, didn’t you?” 

“Maybe.”  I smirked up at him. He just shook his head. “Anyway, I’ll know to call you the next time one of my clients turns out to be an arms dealer!”

“And I’m going to call you the next time Jonathan needs to blow up a loo and make it look like an accident!”

“I’m your gal! I’ve always had a thing for explosives!” I enthused.

We both side-eyed each other for a second then burst out laughing.  Tom dropped an arm around my waist in a brief friendly hug.

“Why am I not surprised, darling?” he chuckled.

“Because you’re surprisingly perceptive for a toff?”

“I am not a toff!” he said indignantly. 

“Thomas, you are quite literally a toff! The name comes from the little gold tassels on Oxford and Cambridge graduation caps.” 

“How do you know I went to Cambridge?” he challenged. I gave him a look.

“Where else would you have gone?!”  He shook his head.

“And where did you learn that about the tassels?” 

I grinned. “I might not have a fancy degree, but I do love reading, which makes me a veritable mine of useless information! You want to know why beer bottles are brown and green, why the sky is blue, how Adidas and Puma are related? I’m your gal.”

“Right, well you’re on my team for the next quiz night.” he said 

“You’re on!” I went to check out his pantry.  A few tins of tomatoes.  And beans.  And, god help me, anchovies.  Half a sack of flour, and a jar of lemon curd.

“You know Tom, in my world you can tell just how dicky someone’s finances are by how empty their pantry is.  Do you... need a loan?”

Tom burst out laughing.

“No, love.  My job takes me out of the country a good bit, so I don’t keep much food at home, it just spoils.  I’ve only just got back home, and haven’t had a moment to do a proper shopping!”

“Did you learn how to mash potatoes when you picked up all those mad cooking skillz on set?”  I jerked my chin at the potatoes, which ought to be ready now.

“You have a very smart mouth.” he observed, pouring off the boiling water into the sink, not even managing to scald himself.  “I’m impressed.”  

“I have a smart everything, Thomas!” I sassed, “You should see my smart-” I broke off, blushing furiously.  Tom laughed and shook his head teasingly at me.

“Careful! That smart mouth might get you in trouble.”  He grinned wickedly at me. “Showing off your other smart bits definitely will!”

“I wasn’t aware I’d agreed to show you my bits.”

“Yet.” One eyebrow went up.  He looked so damn cocky.

I had no doubt about it but I had an image to maintain. “Considering you can’t even feed yourself without me, you’re incredibly arrogant.”

“No, just single minded.”

I kept turning the lamb mince and we soon had the potatoes mashed, the lamb sautéed and put into a casserole dish to bake for an hour, and a little cheese grated on top. We tidied away our mess.


	4. Chapter 4

“I should call home so my dad doesn’t worry.”

“You live at home?” he asked. 

“No, although he’s only about five minutes down the road and if he sees my van is missing, he’ll panic and send search dogs out after me... or large men with cudgels.  He’s a little old fashioned about his ‘little girl’.” I made a face.

“Of course,” he blanched a little. “Did your phone survive the deluge?” he asked, a slightly worried look on his face. 

“I haven’t checked, but it has a waterproof cover, so I expect so.”

“Well, you can pop into the living room to call if you want,” he pointed in the general direction. “In the meantime, is it too early for wine?” 

I looked at the clock, which said it was gone 6pm. 

“Nah, but I’d prefer a beer if you have it?” 

“Coming right up,” he assured me 

I went into the next room and called my dad to tell him I was staying out. I didn’t tell him I was staying with Tom because I knew he’d question me incessantly. Normally he would have had a fit about me staying with a client, but I knew he'd be over the moon about the posh address. Considering I was the only child who had carried on the family business, he sure seemed keen to marry me off!  Though I’m not really sure he’s considered the fact that marriage probably means sex… Maybe it was an age thing, I was an unplanned late baby and he’s nearly 70 now, although you wouldn’t know it to look at him and he’s still as spry as me. 

He asked about Tom’s job this afternoon and I walked to the windows as I explained what the issues were, and asked him to email the client the bill and an estimate to have the stopcock changed.

“How many hours?” he asked.  How many billable hours *did* I work? I calculated in my head. We normally charge for drive time, and I guess I’d worked a little over an hour? I definitely went off the clock the moment I climbed into Tom’s bathtub!

“Charge him 2 hours, Dad.”

“Two hours? Are you telling me you got from Chalk Farm, across London rush hour in the snow in half an hour??” I could hear the scepticism in his voice.  Shit! Next step is suspicion. And explanations…

“No!  Look Dad, I have a friend from school lives in Camden Town and I’m staying with her overnight, or I’d still be on the road in this mess! I’m not charging the client for a several hour drive that I didn’t make!”  God, I hate lying to Dad.  But I’m not letting him charge Tom for my time when I’m wearing the man’s clothing and eating his food!  Not to mention whatever else we might get up to tonight…

“Rocky, how the hell do you expect to run a business…” Oh, here we go.  I tuned him out and let him rant for a minute or two.

“Dad!” I interrupted the flow,  “Dad!  Charge two hours!” I said firmly. He squawked indignantly.

“I’m charging him three, and that’s final! We need to be paid for the normal amount of travel, even if you’re too soft to charge for being called out in the snow!”  

God, he’s like a terrier once he gets something in his teeth! I sighed. “Yes Dad, alright.” I know I’m not going to win this argument. “Fine.”  I’ll just leave the extra hour’s charge behind when I go.  Tom will get a refund on the extra hour before he even gets the bill. I’ll just leave a little note of explanation. Sure, I could easily tell him what it was for, but I was afraid that explaining that I have a money grubbing father might ruin the mood. I didn’t know what else was going to happen tonight, but I did know that talk of Tom being fleeced by my Dad would probably kill it!

“Look Dad, I’ve gotta go.  I’ll see you in the morning.  Have a good night, right? Ok. ‘Night.”

By the time we hung up the snow was really coming down heavily, so much so that I couldn’t see the end of the garden any more. I shivered as I wrapped the cardigan tighter around me. 

“Are you cold?” Tom asked as he entered with two glasses of beer. I’d have been happy drinking from the bottle (less washing up!) but this was okay too. 

“A little,” I admitted as I took my beer from his hand. I shrugged ruefully. "It's more the idea of all that cold snow that's making me shiver!"

“I’ll put the fire on,” he said as he stepped around the sofas (yes, plural). The room was huge actually, but again, not opulent despite the property being worth millions (I knew it had to be in this part of London) He had movie posters decorating his walls, where he doesn’t have huge bookcases filled with books. Jurasic Park isn't exactly Monet. I'd have definitely been less impressed with Monet or Picasso.

The fire was only a remote controlled gas one behind glass, but it looked good and gave out a nice heat. 

“Your Dad ok?” he asked with a sip of his beer.  I sighed.

“Yeah.  He’s just...Dad.” I shrugged, and Tom nodded understandingly.

I joined him on the sofa and we looked through his on-screen TV guide. 

“Ooh, ooh, Changing Rooms!” I sat up, bouncing enthusiastically, pointing at the screen.

“Seriously??” he sounded incredulous. 

“Hey, I love that show!”

He shrugged dubiously, but selected it. We’d missed about ten minutes, but that was just the boring introduction of the families, not the good bits. 

“Home improvement TV is my weakness,” I confessed. 

“Really?” 

“It’s car crash telly, isn’t it? Take this, they each get 500 quid to redecorate a room? You’d be lucky to repaint and have enough left for a nice throw pillow!  So they end up badly painting quality furniture and reducing it to the value of a kids scribble, and with every other item of furniture made from MDF chipboard.” 

“So you enjoy watching them fail?” 

“Or succeed. It’s good when they can overcome the odds… but I confess, I do like the ones where they burst into tears.”

“You have a mean streak,” he teased me. I shrugged.

“I just don’t have a high tolerance for idiots, and who in their right mind would think Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen could make a living room look nice with 500 quid and a shed load of chipboard? They’d be better asking you!” 

“That almost feels like a compliment.” he smirked.

“It almost was one.” I grinned back.

We were silent for a while as each designer outlined their “vision” for the rooms. 

“He doesn't seriously want to turn that lovely modern dining room in a modern house, into a medieval banquet hall, does he?” Tom sounded incredulous. 

“I’m afraid you heard that right.” I smirked.

“This is not going to end well.” He shook his head dubiously.

I smiled, having converted another one. Then I sat up with a lurch, waving my beer glass at the screen.

“Oh no, don’t do it that way, ya wanker!  Jeezus, yer paintin’ like yer still in kindergarten, sloshin’ finger paint around!” I shouted at the screen and flopped back on the sofa, disgusted. Tom snickered.

“Getting a bit wound up over a silly show, are you darling?” I snorted and shrugged.   
“It’s an outlet.” I slyly looked at him from the corner of my eye, taking another swallow of my beer.  “Shouting at the tossers on the telly keeps me from shouting at idiot homeowners with geysering faucets…” 

I snickered as Tom smirked at me.

He had a very sexy smirk. He’d make a good bad guy.  You know, the type who ride up on a motorcycle in a white t-shirt and black leather jacket, smirks and seconds later the panties start dropping like fuck. And some boxer briefs, no doubt!

A few moments later it was Tom’s turn to sit forward in indignation and declare, “They’re painting bloody floor tiles? On that nice hardwood floor??” 

“Well if they weren't ‘bloody’ before, I’m guessing they will be by the end.” 

“They’re just using emulsion! That stuff will come off in days! Hours, probably!”  He was all indignant.  And that’s why I love some reality TV, it makes you feel really smart and sensible. 

“Is...is that a suit of armour?” I choked. 

“I...I’m afraid so.”

“You don’t have one of them, do you?”  My head swiveled ‘round to eye him suspiciously.

“Goodness! Why would I?” 

“Just seems like a toff thing to have.” I poked.

“No, sorry.” 

I sighed my disappointment. “ ‘S okay, I was only going to hide in there and scare the shit out of you...” 

“Right, so that’s suits of armour on my ‘never buy’ list.”

“You have a ‘never buy’ list?”

“I do now.” He side-eyed me and I snickered.

About halfway through I found myself curling my feet up under myself and when he moved his arm along the back of the sofa, it just felt natural to lean in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter at last! But don't worry, Rocky might be back with a one shot every now and then! Love your comments!

It was..nice, cuddled up to Tom on the sofa, drinking beer and laughing at the idiots on the telly mistaking home renovation for building a film set.  Tom got it.  Which, I suppose, makes sense, as he’s no doubt very familiar with MDF set construction. In any case, I enjoyed the giggles and derisive snorts under my ear.

Dinner was good, Tom sweetly complimentary about my cooking as we ate in front of another episode. I swear, the slapstick that is Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen never gets old.

Another beer, and Tom tugged me into his lap, ol' Lawrence forgotten. I turned to straddle him, sitting back on his thighs to see him clearly, looking at him inquiringly.

"Rocky, I..."  He stared into my eyes, clearly trying to communicate something telepathically. Funnily enough, I think I understood. For the first time Tom looked...diffident. Unsure. And maybe a little bashful, which is fucking adorable, really. I decided to take pity on him. And on myself, not incidentally. I figured I can take the leap, because really, if I’m wrong, I won't ever have to see him again, right?

“Tom.”  I put my fingers on his lips to stop him worrying about how to voice what he wants. What I want. 

"I have a busy life, and not much time for a relationship. I think you might be in a... similar state?"  He nodded. I could see the hope leaping in his eyes, and I felt the same in me.

"But... I could do with a friends with benefits thing?”  I shrugged.  “If you –"

"Yes. Rocky, yes please." He jumped in and said a bit shakily, bending to touch his forehead to mine, his hands tightening on my waist. I blew a breath out, relieved that I'd not fucked it up. I raised a stern finger.

"Condoms are non-negotiable, right? I'm on the pill, but I've never had sex without a condom and I'm not going to change that for anyone, even pretty film stars! If it’s not on, it’s not on!"

"Right. Condoms.  No harm, no foul, no strings." He stated firmly.  I nodded, my stomach doing a little swoop..

"Right. No whips, no chains, no marks." I stated plainly. Tom chuckled.  

"Eh, all my whips and chains are out for repair, anyway!"  he quipped.

“Work ‘em that hard do ya?”

“Well,” he shrugged modestly. “How do you feel about handcuffs?” 

“Only if you’ve got a badge, and I don’t mean a Blue Peter one!”

“Understood.” 

I giggled, pointing my thumb over my shoulder at the telly.

"I hope you didn't send your whips and chains out to that lot, they'll come back as macramé!"

His laugh trailed off as his hands moved down to my backside and his lips came down on mine. His mouth explored gently until I pressed forward, and then the kiss became more searching, his tongue tracing the shape of my bottom lip.

My hands slid to his chest, exploring his firm chest, trailing down to an honest to god six pack beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. Very nice. His large hands massaged my bum, kneading firmly. He lifted his head and stared seriously at me a moment.

"Rocky, you have a gorgeous arse..."  I grinned as I wriggled to get closer.

“I know, right? But I usually call it my ass.”

I could see him frantically trying to work out where this was going, but eventually he gave up. 

“Why’s that then?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Because if you ass nicely, I might let you touch it.”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes and trying not to laugh at my awful jokes. 

“Your sense of humour is so awful, it’s almost good.”   
   
"I know, right?" I grinned at him.  
   
Tom slid me off his knees to my feet, considerately holding my arm to steady me. Such a gentleman idiot. I rather like it. I can't say I've had too many gentle encounters. Most of the blokes I've been with didn't much bother with the niceties.  Wham, bam, and I was lucky if I got the 'thank you Ma'am'!  
   
"Shall we go upstairs so I can examine this ass more thoroughly?" His eyebrow arched.  
   
“What a good idea!” I grinned.   
   
He stood and took my hand, leading me up the stairs to his bedroom.  
   
He pushed the door open and the room was filled with an eerie light, streaming into the room from the large windows overlooking the back garden. The drapes were open and the windows positively glowed, though it was well past sunset. Almost unconsciously I dropped Tom's hand, drawn to the odd light. The air next to the window pane was chilled, my breath coming back misty. I looked out into the peculiar light, the snow was falling thick and fast. The cloud level was low and the city lights were reflecting off the clouds and the thick curtain of snow.  
   
Though it was full night outside, I could have read by the reflected light. I was mesmerized by the view. I felt Tom move behind me, his hands settling on my hips as he looked out the window over my shoulder. We stood like that together, staring out at the storm for a long moment. Then he pulled my hips back so that my body was flush with his, holding my hips and slowly moving them to rub against a very nice hard on. I couldn't help wriggling a little and heard his swift intake of breath.  
   
"Mmm.  When I said you were a cocky git, I had no idea how right I was..."  
   
I felt Tom's silent laughter where I leaned against his chest. His head dipped down, curls brushing my cheek as he kissed the junction of my neck and shoulder, nudging my head to the side for more access.  
   
"Rocky?" He murmured into the skin of my neck.  
   
"Wot?" I answered, the sound more than half a moan as he nuzzled below my ear.  
   
"Shut up."  His hands slid from my hips under the hem of the T-shirt I was wearing, warm palms gliding up my ribs.  
   
All the words disappeared anyway as the backs of his knuckles brushed against the undersides of my boobs while he continued to lay open mouthed kisses along the top of my shoulder. Hell, all the air disappeared as well.  
   
Tom nudged me from behind to step forward, crowding me a bit. One hand pulled out from under my shirt to slide down my arm to my wrist, and back up, lifting my arm. He set my palm flat against the cold glass and then repeated the process with my other arm.  
   
His hands went back under my tee, lifting it on his wrists and baring my skin to the cold air near the window bit by bit.  
   
He tugged the shirt over my head, lifting each hand to pull it free and dropped it on the floor. My heart began to race and my breathing sped up. I was nearly bloody panting. If he was about what I thought...  
   
His hands came to rest on the windowpane to either side of mine and he stepped closer, slowly, inexorably nudging my body closer and closer to the cold window pane.  
   
Just as my hard nipples were about to make contact with the freezing glass, his whole body pressed against my back, pushing my nude torso completely against the glass. My mind whited out at the searing cold, my breath frozen in my lungs. Every inch of bare skin was plastered to that window and the cold quickly morphed to hot from my turned cheek resting on the pane, down to my navel. It was a bit like brain freeze, only much, much better.  
   
“Oh fuck me!” I groaned when I could draw in air again.   
   
“Oh, I have every intention,” he murmured against the skin on my neck, so I felt it as much as heard it. That wasn’t what I’d meant, but I’d take it anyway!  
   
Tom's hands covered mine, his fingers weaving between mine against the glass as his body began to grind slowly against mine. I was overwhelmed with sensations, too many to process, boobs mashed flat, nipples like diamond points, skin on fire with cold, and that long hot body pressed against me holding me trapped to the glass as he devoured my neck.  
   
About the time I realized dimly that the grind against my backside had turned into a pushing thrust, he stepped back, pulling me from the glass and turning me.  
   
I looked up at him, dazed, nearly doped on all the sensations as he steadied me with his hands on my shoulders. He stepped back a little, looking down at my body, his breath catching a little.  
   
"Fuck, Rocky."  he breathed reverently, his hands coming to trace along the outsides of my boobs. They were so tight and so cold. They ached in a way I've never experienced. I moaned as his hands cupped my boobs, hot skin against cold. He leaned in and kissed me as I swayed, his kiss deepening and developing a rhythm almost like a beating heart.  
   
He lifted his head and my brain cleared enough to notice that my hands were balled tightly into his shirt. He still had his shirt on. Well that wouldn't do. I pushed his shirt up and he obligingly bent so that I could pull it off and fling it somewhere else.  
   
My fingers greedily took in his chest and belly, tracing the dips and valleys, silky warm skin over hard hot muscle. He licked into my mouth once more, pulling my body up to his and walking me backward to his bed. When the back of my knees hit the bed, he pushed me down.  
   
I watched him as he took a moment to look me over, spread out across his bed. He turned and reached into the bedside drawer, pulling out a condom and laying it on the bed next to my head. Good boy.  
   
His hands went to the waistband of my borrowed sweats, pushing them down and off, stripping me bare. He groaned as he looked at me.  
   
"I forgot that your knickers are in the dryer, Rocky...this is... you are so incredibly..."  I felt a little bit of pride that the sight of my naked body had this man stuttering.  I lifted my chin at him.   
   
"Your turn."  
   
I watched as his long elegant fingers swiftly opened his trousers and pushed everything down, kicking them off. Fuck, the idiot is even more beautiful naked. At last I have an inkling about what my sixth form Art history teacher was on about now...  
   
I sat up and reached for him, my hands sliding around the backs of his thighs and pulling him gently between my knees. I could not take my eyes off that beautiful cock, long and wide, the deep pink flesh of his cock head nearly pushing free of his foreskin. His musky aroma was nearly overwhelming. I leaned my forehead against his hard belly, breathing hard to calm my throbbing bits, which didn't actually help much.   
   
His thighs trembled under my palms as I slid them up that damned apple shaped arse, gripping and feeling the muscles clenching under my hands. I tilted my head down and looked at his cock, my eyes tracing the fat vein twisting down his length. Tom seemed inclined to let me explore, so I did.  
   
I moved one hand to trail fingers up the tight seam of his sac before leaning forward and lightly swirling my tongue around the head of his cock, tasting the drop of pre-come waiting for me there, his flavor bursting over my tongue.  
   
Tom's hands worked into my hair. I could hear his breath stutter every time my tongue touched him, but he never made any move to thrust down my throat. The bloody man confounds and exceeds my expectations at every damn turn, as he did now.  
   
Tom gently pushed my mouth away, leaned over and snagged the condom, standing and handing it to me with silent expectation. A smile crept onto my face as I thought I ought to make a bit of a ceremony of it. That was the first time any bloke had expected me to put a condom on him, but hey, I had health class just like all the other kids.  
   
I tore the wrapper open and applied the condom, not forgetting to pull his foreskin down and pinch the top of the condom. But I didn't hang about, I wanted him in me...  
   
I looked up with a triumphant smile to find him staring down at me, his pupils blown wide, lips pressed tight, and adam’s apple bobbing, clearly controlling himself.  
   
My breath left my body. A thought trundled across my brain that I'd have to examine later, that maybe this was the way it was supposed to be...  
   
Tom's hand found my shoulder and pushed me back. Setting his hands on either side of my shoulders, he leaned down to kiss me, warm dry lips brushing against mine before he deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into my mouth to tangle with mine. My hands wound into his hair to hold him there.  
   
In the end he pulled far enough away to lay a line of kisses down my throat and over my chest. A chill went over me, pebbling my skin as his hand slid down my body, his fingers gliding over my mound teasing, and came to my entrance. Two fingers swirled in my moisture and dragged up to my clit. He brushed a fingertip over it, and my body arched up helplessly, lifting my hips, begging.  
   
Tom teased his cock slowly into me, until he finally slid home in a single thumping thrust, driving a groan from us both. I panted, adjusting to his girth. He paused, waiting for I don't have any idea, but fuck, I needed him to move! I opened my mouth to beg him to move as I writhed under him. He put a hand over my mouth, preventing my plea.  
   
"I know we agreed no whips and chains, but I swear to God, Rocky, if you make a crack right now..." he growled, his gaze hard and unyielding. It was very sexy.  
   
I mumbled under his hand. Of course he lifted it.  
   
“What was that?” he demanded.  
   
"I said, But you won't be able to resist hearing me, will you?"  
   
Tom groaned and covered my mouth again.  He rested his forehead on mine, snickering.  
   
"I'm really rethinking gags, right now..."  
   
I licked his palm, because I am constitutionally incapable of backing down from a challenge. He lifted his hand again.  
   
"Well, if you need a gag to occupy my mouth, you are not the man I thought you were!"  I smirked at him as I squeezed down hard on his cock, rolling my hips for good measure.  
   
Tom gratifyingly sucked in a breath at that, his jaw clenched in that sexy way, and then he attacked me, his lips on mine, kissing me hard enough that I knew my lips would be tender in the morning. At the same time, his hips crashed into me with such vigour that each thrust pushed me up the bed a little. Fortunately there was loads of real estate on that bed…  
   
It had been a long time since someone fucked me senseless and fucking hell, I was enjoying every second of it! I found myself digging my blunt fingernails into the wings of his shoulders, clutching at him. I've been fucked into the mattress before, but never with such...intent. Those blue eyes blazed down at me when he lifted his head from another bruising kiss.  My lips were beginning to feel swollen and I could feel the beard burn from his sexy stubble blooming over my neck and cheeks.  
   
He moved one hand to slip under my arse, grabbing a handful and lifting me to change the angle of my hips. I yelped in surprise at the depth, and he stopped immediately, looking down at me with concern.  Before he could open his mouth I was pleading.  
   
“No-no! Christ, don't stop!” I panted, “Don't stop!" I was nearly frantic to feel that again.  
   
A grin broke over his face, as if he'd just been told he could have his favorite toy back. If I had hoped he'd go straight back to pounding into me, I was disappointed in the hope, but not in the result. The bastard started again slowly and drove us lazily back up to fever pitch.  
   
He drove the breath from my body with every plunge. All I could do was wrap my legs around his waist and hang on tight. The most ridiculous whine was coming from my mouth the closer I got.  He kept me there, on that edge, until I thought I'd sell my mother to come. Hell, I’d sell his mother!  
   
He finally, finally, let me come, shoving me brutally over the edge, not slowing in the least, driving my climax on and on, chasing his own until he came with a shout, one hand catching the headboard for leverage to drive himself into me with each pulse, his head thrown right back.  
   
He stayed there, grinding into me as I gradually fell limp and the spasming of my cunt around him trailed off to random twitches, leaving us both gasping.  
   
A moment later his head came up and he looked into my eyes, with a smile tugging his lips. With a laugh he pulled, well, slithered out by that point, and rolled off me. His hand found mine as we both stared up at the ceiling letting out these little exhilarated gasping laughs. He turned his head, his face flushed and eyes sparkling.  
   
"That was fun!" He pulled up my hand and fiercely kissed the back, laying a loud smack on it as I giggled back and caught my breath. Whew!  It was fun!  He was fun!   
   
"Oh yeah... that was so much more fun than driving home in the snow! We should definitely do that again sometime...but you've killed me tonight! I’m completely shattered..." I yawned and he chuckled at that.  
   
"I must say Rocky, you do make bedsport invigorating!"  I snickered.  He said 'bedsport'.  I can't believe he said 'bedsport'.  But hell, I don't care what he calls it, as long as he calls me when he wants to do it again...  
   
He groaned as he sat up and staggered into the loo to get rid of the condom. The last thing I remember was hearing the water tap turn on.  I do know I fell asleep with a smile on my face.  Tom must have covered me up when he came back to bed.  I remember barely waking in the night, cuddling up to his warmth and working my freezing feet between his. An arm came around me, and I slept again.

***  
I woke the next morning with the terrible taste of morning beer breath in my mouth and miles of man plastered to my back.  There was a heavy arm over my waist, a large hand loosely cupping my breast, a hard thigh pushed between mine, and warm breath gusting onto the top of my head.

Ugh.  I needed to pee, and dear god did I need a gallon of water!  I lifted my head, squinting and eyeing the clock on his bedside table in the bright morning light. 

Ugh.  Who situates their bed so that morning sunshine falls directly on it?!  I had clearly found a masochist. Maybe he wasn’t kidding about those whips and chains...

I eventually keep my sensitive eyes open for long enough to read the alarm clock. Seven AM… SEVEN FREAKING AM ON A SATURDAY MORNING! Wanna go back to sleeeep…

This is so unfair! I’m up with the larks five days a week, I deserve a lie in on weekends, I-

Wait, didn't I have to do something? My bladder asserted itself once more. 

Pee… Right.  Pee, water, headache pills, coffee, in that exact order.

I squirmed around as much as I could in his arms, nudging him and yawning.  I halted mid-yawn, struck by the sun illuminating blonde curls going every which way, a slightly open pink mouth, long lashes fanning over his cheekbones, a scruff of glinting ginger and gold stubble.  Is it even possible for someone to be that pretty in the morning?  Ugh.

My bladder decided I needed a little stronger reminder and I shook my head, hoping to shake off the stupor I felt. 

Well, that decided me.  I’m not hanging about, letting him wake up to my tangled rat's nest hair and raccoon eyes.  

“Stupid, pretty man with stupid pretty lashes and stupid pretty stubble,” I muttered as I rolled and pushed my way out of bed, fighting off the long octopus limbs that clung to me, and scooted for the ensuite, pulling my borrowed tee down over my arse.

A few minutes later, my mouth rinsed, face scrubbed of yesterday’s eyeliner, bladder emptied, and hair tamed as much as possible, I opened the door to find Tom leaning against the wall by the door in his boxer-briefs, with his arms and ankles crossed and his head resting groggily back on the wall, waiting for his turn.

“Sorry!” I scooted out of his way as he rapidly went around me.

“No worries!” he pushed the door shut behind him and I went and rapidly pulled on the sweatpants from last night.  My own clothing should be dry by now…

Coffee… I need coffee…  Down in the kitchen I found what I needed, took a minute to suss out the fancy-pants coffee maker and was standing in front of the window, my arms clasped around me for warmth, marvelling at the clear foot of snow in the back garden while I waited not at all patiently for the miracle of caffeine.

Warm arms wrapped around me, pulling me back to rest against the tall warm body behind me.  Bending his neck, he laid a small kiss below my ear.

“Just so you know, darling, falling asleep last night after only one round had everything to do with jet lag and one beer too many, and nothing at all to do with wanting you.” he murmured.  I wrapped my arms over his.

“It’s fine, Tom.  I was pretty tired out myself.  And anyway, if that was you, half asleep last night, I’ll be happy to let you further demonstrate your prowess, inventiveness, and stamina sometime when you’re awake...” I patted his hand and leaned my head back against his warm chest, listening to his snicker reverberate under my head. I felt him kiss my hair and mutter “good” into it.  We stood that way for several minutes, silently watching the birds flit around the half empty birdfeeder in the blinding white and blue morning until the coffee finished brewing.  The man has no food in his cupboards, but he’s made sure the birds are fed. Bloody birdbrain. 

Tom sighed, kissed the top of my head again and gave me a brief squeeze before moving to get coffee mugs down and pour out for both of us.

“Milk?  Sugar?” he asked.  I practically lunged at him and snatched a mug out of his hand.

“Nope!” I mumbled as I blew over the hot brew, “I like my coffee the way I like my men, strong and---” I broke off and coloured a bit with a grimace for my nearly unconscious use of that old chestnut.  I have no social grace. Evidently I didn’t need to finish the thought out loud, as Tom snickered.

“Rich?” he offered. 

“Aye, that’ll do. Strong and rich.” I nodded my head earnestly. I looked around at his kitchen appraisingly. “Hmm, dicky plumbing and no gold taps…  Well, you’re right out!”

He laughed and hugged me around my waist. I continued to look out into the garden at the undisturbed snow; there are few prettier sights, in my view.   
   
“How deep is it?” Tom asked.   
   
I looked from the snow to his crotch and back again. “About a cock and a half, I’d say.”  
   
“That deep?” Tom chuckled. “Well in that case, maybe you should stay here.”  
   
As tempting as that thought was, I knew the roads would have been thoroughly plowed and gritted overnight, so I should be fine to get home. Besides, My brother had just been promoted to Chief Financial Whizz (or some such shit) and Dad was taking me and both brothers out to celebrate.   
   
I turned away from the snow and sat opposite him at the table.   
   
“I didn’t say it was your cock I was using as the yardstick,” I teased. He rolled his eyes.  
   
“How are you this morning?” he asked, growing serious. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”   
   
“Nah, I had a great time.”  
   
“You’re not sore?” He seemed really worried. I mean, I could see how that thing might do some damage in the wrong hands, but he’d been very good at making sure I was aroused enough to take him.   
   
“Well of course I’m sore,” I smiled at him. “But only in the best way!”  
   
That seemed to wipe the concerned look off his face.   
   
But now things were awkward and there was a slight feeling of bitter melancholy descending over proceedings as we both realised that things were coming to an end.   
   
“Besides, a large cock is always better than a medium one,” I joked. I often fall back on humour when things are uncomfortable.   
   
“How so?” he asked, suppressing his smile until he knew the joke was worth it.   
   
“My last fella had a medium cock; it used to get messages from the dead whenever we got it on. Totally ruined the mood.”   
   
He laughed.   
   
“I’d better check on your clothes,” he said, shaking his head as he walked out, presumably wondering how he could laugh at such a bad joke.   
   
I took the opportunity to grab my wallet from my work bag and I pulled out enough cash to pay for an hour (the extra hour my Dad was adding to his bill) then I found an old receipt, on which I scribbled an explanation for the money on the back. I looked around for somewhere discreet to leave it where it would eventually be spotted but when I heard Tom returning, I put it on the sideboard, towards the back, and quickly sat back down.   
   
“All lovely and dry,” Tom said as he presented me with a pile of folded clothes.   
   
“Thanks.” I was down to dregs in my coffee cup now, so I got to my feet and picked up the pile. “I’ll change in the bathroom, okay?”   
   
“Unless you fancy some breakfast?”   
   
I knew he didn’t have any breakfast foods in, but I guess he was searching for a way to extend this too. I, on the other hand, knew it was better not to draw things out.   
   
“Thanks, but I really do have to get home.”   
   
“Of course,” he replied, ever the gentleman.   
   
I was sorry to be leaving his clothes behind, especially that cardigan, it was so soft and covered in his rich, warm scent, but as much as I would have liked to pilfer it, I wasn’t a thief.    
   
I headed back downstairs to find him waiting for me and after an awkward kiss by the kitchen table, he insisted on carrying my bag out to the van. I think the weight of it took him by surprise but he was no lightweight and carried it with ease.   
   
I held the door open while he put it in the rear of the van, then we stood awkwardly, shuffling our feet in the snow as we searched for a way to say goodbye.   
   
“If you ever need your pipes clearing out again, give me a call,” I teased.   
   
He smirked and shook his head.   
   
“One day that mouth of yours is going to get you in a lot of trouble.”   
   
“Promises, promises.” I leaned forward for what was supposed to be a quick kiss, but Tom caught me behind the neck and held my lips against his while he kissed me properly. My whole body seemed to melt and mould itself to his so when he pulled away, I was left feeling rather breathless.   
   
Tom looked pleased with himself as he stepped backwards towards his front door, where he stood and watched as I backed out of the driveway and drove away.   
   
The roads were very quiet and I made it home in under an hour. It wasn’t until I was opening my front door that I realised, I hadn’t given him my mobile number, nor had I asked for his.   
   
“Well, Bollocks!”  
   
 


End file.
